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University  of  California. 


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18  7Z. 


v 


And  Other  Poems, 


BY  ADAIR  WELCKER. 
I  RY 

UNIVERSITY   OF  I 

('ALIFOKNIA. 


University  of  California. 


187  f. 


VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH, 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 

L  I  IJ  li  A  II  \ 

UNIVERSITY   OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


OAKLAND,  CAL.  : 
STRICKLAND  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 

COPYRIGHTED  1878,  BY  ADAIR  WELCKEK. 


THE  following  short  poems  are  submitted  to  the 
world.  With  me  they  are  Alpha  ;  may  the  verdict  of 
that  world  not  make  them  Omega. 

June  6, 1878.  ADAIK  WELCKER. 


LIBRARY 

1  UNIVERSITY  OF 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH 


LOVED  her  then,  with  such  a  deep  pure  love 
}  _     As  few  can  love,  but  they  of  heaven  above  ; 
The  passing  years  seemed  clouds,  filled  with  sunlight, 
Youth's  years  rolled  by,  clouds  hued  with  coming  night, 
For  sadness,  then,  had  crept  in  on  the  heart; 
We  saw  the  time  when  men  said  we  must  part; 
Like  a  dark  night,  a  night  wrought  of  deep  sadness, 
We  saw  'twould  come,  and  hide  our  day-like  gladness. 


Two  years  had  passed;  and  I  must  leave  my  home; 
A  wanderer,  in  some  far  land  to  roam. 


6  A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH. 

Afar  from  home,  I  sat  me  by  the  sea, 
And  watched  the  clouds  come  rolling  ceaselessly; 
And  in  my  heart,  that  sadly  beat,  and  lowly, 
There  ceaseless  rolled,  dark  waves  of  melancholy. 
I  raised  my  eyes,  and  looked  out  on  the  ocean, 
Whose  myriad  whitecaps  rolled  in  sunlit  motion. 
I  heard  the  gull  scream  shrill,  and  drearily, 
And  slow  fly  on,  with  wings  flapped  wearily; 
And  then  I  wished  that  thoughts,  which  rose  in  me, 
On  wings  of  sight,  could  fly  across  that  sea. 
"Perhaps  this  heart — this  saddened  heart  of  mine — 
It  hath  some  strange,  some  unseen  hidden  line — 
A  something  more  than  thought,  and  more  divine, 
That  beareth  an  emotion  brought  from  thine — 
From  thy  heart,  Helen,  thou  sweet  love  of  mine." 

That  night  upon  the  deep  and  darkened  water 

A  bark  moved  on,  and  seemed  wild  ocean's  daughter 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH.  7 

Nursed  by  the  wave.     The  stars  drove  off  the  gloom, 
(Candles  that  lit  night's  dark  walls  round  the  room) 
And  on  we  sailed;  and  then  upon  the  shore, 
The  loose  rocks,  rattling,  made  a  gentle  roar, 
As  on  I  moved,  slipping  from  side  to  side; 
Still  on  I  moved,  again  to  see  my  bride. 

'Twas  midnight's  hour.     I  saw  the  candle  light 

Come  creeping  forth,  to  bathe  within  the  night. 

Around  the  window  grew  the  creeping  flower; 

And  through  its  leaves  I  saw  the  light  that  hour. 

The  door  swung  wide,  the  father's  face  wore  gloom 

"I  saw  a  light,"  I  said,  "in  Helen's  room" — 

"She  dies,"  he  cried,  with  deep,  and  smothered  cry. 

*:My  Helen  dies?     Ah,  Helen  cannot  die!" 

I  sought  my  loved  one's  room,  and  all  was  still. 

"Ah,  look  on  me,  but  once  look,  if  you  will," 

I  cried;  she  turned  that  lovely  face  to  me; 


8  A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH. 

Ah  pale,  so  pale,  and  worn  it  seemed  to  be. 

Those  cheeks,  where  once  life's  roses  wild  had  grown, 

Had  lost  them  now;  Death  called  the  flowers  his  own. 

"Thou  wilt  not  die!"  I  cried,  "thou  wilt  not  die!" 

"And  wilt  thou  grieve?"  she  said,  and  in  her  eye — 

In  that  wild,  burning  eye,  a  tear  arose. 

I  heard  the  ticking  clock  mark  time  that  flows; 

Like  some  great  engine,  ticking  in  the  air, 

It  seemed;  for  death-like  stillness  reigned  there. 

I  saw  the  candles  burn,  nor  were  they  moved, 

When  she  did  groan,  the  lovely  one  I  loved; 

But  steadily  burned  on,  with  horrid  steadiness; 

While  my  wild  heart  did  wilder  beat  with  readiness. 

And  then  she  died — the  one  I'd  loved  for  years; 

Was  it  for  this  I'd  loved  her?     And  then  my  tears, 

Mixed  with  a  liquid  called  despair,  o'erflowed. 

In  sadness,  then,  I  walked  some  lonely  road. 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH. 

In  white  they  laid  her  in  a  darkened  room ; 
Where  oft  had  rung  the  merry  laugh  was  gloom. 
The  blinds  drawn  down,  the  sun  was  shut  away— 
Ah,  sadly  we  walked  forth  in  the  broad  day, 
To  gather  lillies,  which  in  that  dark  place 
Lay  whiter  on  her  breast,  than  her  white  face. 
On  tip-toe,  then,  we  movfid  about  the  bed 
Of  my  Helen — my  Helen  that  was  dead. 

****** 

One  night,  alone,  I  sat  before  the  fire; 

The  flame,  above  the  coal;  the  smoke  rose  higher; 

And  long  I  watched — the  flickering  candle  died; 

And  as  it  died,  methought  the  darkness  sighed. 

The  fire  wore  on,  till  all  in  ashes  lay, 

And  when  the  spark — the  last  spark  died  away, 

Methought  I  heard  a  whisper,  then  a  voice 

Said,  "Woulds't  thou,  man,  in  deeper  life  rejoice? 

And  woulds't  thou  live,  in  life  where  thou  might' st  see 


10  A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH. 

Thy  bride  that's  dead?  then  corae,  be  led  by  me." 
I  saw  a  form;  'twas  dark — it  filled  the  room; 
The  night  seemed  daylight,  to  its  hue  of  gloom; 
And  it  had  wings,  as  dark  as  the  deep  night 
In  some  far  world,  that  never  knew  sun's  light. 
Like  man's  the  form;  but  then  his  deep,  dark  eye 
Was  like  a  ball  of  night  in  day's  bright  sky; 
And  yet  his  face  beamed  kind — so  kind  on  me, 
The  whole  world's  smile  seemed  gathered  there  to  be. 

"I'm  Death,  and  wilt  thou  come  with  me?"  he  said. 

I 

"Take  thou  my  hand;  by  thee  I  will  be  led." 
And  answering  thus,  I  gave  to  death  my  hand; 
And  then  I  saw,  far  leading  from  earth-land, 
A  river  through  the  air — a  strange,  strange  river; 
Through  beds  of  clouds,  it  flowing  seemed  forever. 
That  river  sparkled  like  the  sunbeam's  light; 
Yet  softness  mingled  with  its  surface  bright. 
Fast  to  that  waveless  shore  a  boat  was  tied. 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH.  11 

That  boat  was  painted  o'er  with  night.     Its  side 
Had  on  the  words  :     "  Joy  forever,  and  ever." 
Of  shadows  made,  was  the  boat  on  the  river. 
There  was  no  oar,  nor  sail,  the  winds  of  death, 
That  o'er  the  earth  do  breathe  their  stilling  breath, 
Did  catch  our  prow,  and  drag  us  slowly  on ; 
But  time  seemed  short — a  moment  earth  was  gone. 
And  I  seemed  sleeping,  till  we  reached  that  shore, 
A  sleep  so  deep,  that  all  my  sleep  before 
Did  gather  in  one  mighty  sleep.     The  boat, 
Wrought  of  the  shadows,  that  are  dead,  did  float 
And  bear  us  on.     And  now  methought  the  sky 
Did  change,  and  have  a  darker  hue,  on  high. 
The  haze  of  night  crept  o'er,  around  the  river. 
Still  on  we  moved,  nor  had  our  boat  stopped  ever. 
And  now  I  saw,  ascending  and  descending 
The  river,  angels  come,  and  far  extending 
I  saw  their  boats,  as  white  as  some  sea  shell, 


12  A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH. 

In  which  the  morning  sun's  first  ray  doth  dwell. 

And  now,  from  cloud  to  cloud  above, 

Sweet  music  cloth,  in  sounding  lightning  rove. 

And  ah,  this  music  seemed  so  sweet  to  me, 

'Twas  like  the  soul  of  all  lost  melody. 

And  then  I  thought,  these  angels  who  do  move 

Toward  earth,  in  their  white  boats,  seek  those  they 

love, 

To  guard  them  secretly.     For  fiends  do  throw 
At  them,  darts  dipped  in  hell's  hot  sins  below, 
Wrought  by  hell's  fiends.    Now  Death,  that  spirit  dark, 
Cried,  "look  far  in  the  sky."     And  I  did  mark 
A  distant  star.     "It  is  a  star,"  he  said, 
"And  in  that  star  is  hell;"  then  it  grew  red. 
The  night-like  clouds,  that  overhead  did  roll, 
Then  darker  grew ;  and  I  saw  through  the  whole, 
As  I  had  seen  the  sun  through  a  dark  glass, 
In  this  red  ball  oft  pass,  and  then  re- pass, 


A  VOYAGE  WITH  DEATH.  13 

Some  half  seen  forms,  far  through  the  fiery  light, 

That  made  their  atmosphere.     Then  clouds,  like  night, 

Closed  o'er  above,  and  hell  behind  fell  far, 

And  to  the  eye,  grew  but  a  silver  star. 

The  days  of  sleep  were  o'er;  no  sleep  I  needed; 

There  was  no  night;  earth's  night  passed  on  unheeded. 

Another  star  grew  near,  as  we  passed  on. 

"From  here,  at  night,"  said  Death,  "when  sinks  the 

sun, 

A  world  of  unseen  rays  toward  earth  do  flow, 
Which,  resting  on  the  sleeper's  brow  below, 
Produce  sweet  dreams.     From  here  doth  gentle  sleep, 
In  smoke-like  flakes,  fall  through  night's  stillness  deep. 
And  here  our  dark  boat  stops;  here  on  this  shore, 
All  they  have  stood,  that  went  with  me  before." 
"My  Helen,  then,  hath  once  been  here  with  thee?" 
"That  maiden  stood,  where  thou  dost  stand,  with  me." 
Round  yon  dark  rocks  I  led  her  to  my  home, 


14  A   VOYAGE  WITH   DEATH. 

By  this  same  path  I'll  lead  thee  with  me — oome." 
He  took  my  hand.     The  river  to  my  eye 
Was  lost;  with  boats  forever  gliding  by.  t- 

I  saw  his  home,  a  cavern  deep,  and  dark; 
For  in  its  depth  was  glowing  many  a  spark — 
The  burning  years  of  those  that  lived  on  earth. 
And  new  lights  blazed,  when  man  below  had  birth; 
And  old  flames  ceased,  when  man  below  was  dead. 
"Come  on  with  me,  still  further  on,"  Death  said. 
It  grew  less  dark;  and  less,  as  we  drew  nearer; 
Those  far-off  lights,  and  pale,  grew  brighter,  clearer. 
And  then  methought  that  some  did  flickering  burn, 
And  some  burned  steadily,  I  could  discern. 
"See  here  my  garden  is,"  said  Death  to  me; 
"  Look  on  those  flowers — flowers  of  eternity. 
Flowers  of  thought  are  they,  the  gentle  thought, 
Born  in  the  human  heart,  in  flowers  is  wrought, 


A   VOYAGE   WITH   DEATH.  15 

And  when  my  passengers  have  passed  to  heaven, 

By  flowers,  to  me,  remembrances  are  given. 

On  earth  the  gentle,  pitying  glance  hath  power, 

To  leave  a  hue  upon  that  kind  one's  flower. 

And  then  the  dark  and  angry  thought  doth  stain 

Some  flower  of  mine — it  ne'er  grows  white  again. 

And  when  they're  gone  beyond,  if  I  see  here 

A  stained  flower — I  see  it  with  a  tear. 

This  deep  red  flower,"  he  said,  "  doth  mark  how  one 

Through  martyr  death,  long  years  ago,  hath  gone; 

Who  stood  the  burning  fire;  then  took  my  hand, 

And  left  earth's  cruel  ones  for  heaven's  kind  band. 

Ah  sweet,  sweet  flowers;  ye  flowers  that  never  die, 

But  bloom,  for  me,  the  long  eternity. 

But  let  us  rest  not  longer  here."     Then  on 

The  dark  boat  moved — that  home  of  death  was  gone. 

The  million  stars  we  windingly  moved  through; 


16  A   VOYAGE   WITH    DEATH. 

And  other  worlds  did  strangely  strike  the  view; 
And  beings  strange,  upon  those  worlds  were  seen. 
Great  clouds  of  fire,  bound  round  with  dunnest  smoke, 
Were  drawn  o'erhead,  and  down  in  showers  broke 
That  rent  the  darkened  clouds  that  hung  between. 
Winged  demons,  that  were  clothed  in  hell's  array, 
Thus  strove  to  stop  our  steady,  silent  way. 
They  harmed  us  not,  and  onward  still  we  moved, 
Towards  that  fair  place — the  home  of  Him  we  loved. 

And  beings  joined  us  from  another  fold. 

Still  other  streams  oft  into  our  stream  rolled. 

Those  deep,  dark  clouds,  that  hung  above,  were  gone; 

And  o'er  a  stream  of  gold,  we  floated  on ; 

A  half-heard  music  trembled  in  the  air, 

And  angels  walked,  upon  the  waters  there; 

And  there  was  one,  among  that  heavenly  band, 

That  greeted  me,  and  pointed  to  a  land, 


A   VOYAGE   WITH   DEATH.  17 

Far,  far  ahead,  where  we  should  meet  again. 
I  urged  my  dark  guide  on,  but  urged  in  vain. 
Beneath  white  clouds,  we  rested  on  a  shore, 
And  there  I  left  my  guide  for  evermore. 


MEMORY. 


DREAM  is  left,  and  childhood's  home  is  gone ; 

The  cruel  robber,  years,  the  deed  have  done ; 
And  left  a  dream — a  place  where  fancies  come, 
And  rear  an  airy  memory  of  a  home. 
Ah,  sunny  time !  I  see  thee  now  through  years 
That  tioat  'away  on  cloudy  mists  of  tears ; 
I  see  thee  now,  as  when  a  child  I  slept, 
Till  curious  sunbeams  'neath  my  eye-lids  crept ; 
And  waked,  I  heard  my  mother's  voice  below 
Cry,  "  Wake,  my  child,  the  sun  rose  hours  ago ! " 

That  happy  time ;  how  blithe  the  young  heart  then  ; 
The  heart  will  never  be  as  blithe  again  ; 


MEMORY.  19 

Then  every  rose  breathed  sweetness  on  the  air, 
And  in  bird  songs  were  drowned  our  thoughts  of  care. 
How  long  we  angled  in  the  clear  cool  stream, 
Where  finny  backs  rebuffed  the  sun's  warm  beam  ; 
At  night  were  then  our  dreams  so  pure,  so  bright, 
That  fairy  tho'ts  wove  round  them  moonbeams  light ; 
While  others  paint  (their  paint  a  liquid  star) 
Scenes  on  our  dreams  of  other  worlds  afar, 
No  sneering  word  then  gave  that  stinging  pain, 
That  piercing  in,  but  years  drive  out  again ; 
No  sin  had  then  crept  in  upon  the  heart, 
And  written  devils'  thoughts  on  every  part. 

Ah,  sweet,  sweet  childhood  !  well  I  miss  thee  now — 
Thou  hadst  a  heart — man  has  a  cold  stern  brow  ; 
And  though  years  hold  me  with  their  iron  chain, 
With  madman  strength  I'd  tear  the  chain  in  twain, 
And  be  a  child,  but  once  a  child  again ! 


20  MEMOES. 

Alas  these  thoughts — these  dreary  thoughts — are  vain; 

And  I  must  seek,  in  halls  of  memory, 

A  dream  that's  left ;  all,  now,  that's  left  to  me. 

How  long  we  sought  the  uncaught  butterfly, 

As  men  seek  pleasure  (vision  of  the  sky); 

Or  laughing,  played  in  fields  of  sunbrowned  hay, 

Till  worn,  at  night,  all  homeward  took  their  way, 

A  child  we  lay  upon  some  hillock  green, 

And  watched  the  clouds  roll  by  in  silver  sheen ; 

Or  sat  by  streams,  where  gentle  waters  ran 

And  dreamed  of  peace,  as  childhood  dreaming  can. 

Ah,  with  what  joy  we  heard  the  wild  birds  song, 

That  mingled  with  the  waves  that  rolled  along, 

And  saw  small  ships  move  down  that  tiny  deep, 

As  heavenly  thoughts  moved  o'er  our  nightly  sleep ; 

While  winds  breathed  thro'  the  trees  a  soothing  tone, 

And  on  the  banks  we  slept,  till  day  was  gone. 


MEMOILE.  21 

And  then  at  night,  around  the  roaring  fire, 

Where  pine  logs  blazed, and  crackling  blazed  up  higher; 

And  loud  the  wind  howled  through  the  dark  without, 

Our  childish  tears  arose  for  those  about, 

That  in  the  tempest,  starving,  prayed  for  fire, 

A  crust  of  bread,  a  roof,  their  sole  desire, 

A  bright  thought  came,  the  heart  grew  lighter  then, 

We  would  grow  rich,  and  buy  them  homes,  when  men 

Our  parents  told  of  days  then  long  passed  by, 

Of  battles  fought — of  death — of  victory  ; 

Of  that  wild  time,  when  England  was  our  foe, 

And  of  the  band  that  braved  the  winter's  snow — 

Ah  then  the  ear,  so  keen,  still  keener  grew, 

We'd  buy  a  sword,  and  be  a  soldier  too  ! 

And  then  each  child  came  at  the  father's  call, 
Rose  on  a  stool,  and  there  addrest  them  all ; 
Told  how  "  tall  oaks  from  little  acorns  grow ; " 


22  MEMORJE. 

About  Demosthenes,  and  Cicero ; 

Applauded  then,  the  heart  beat  wild  and  high, 

As  conquerer  hearts  beat  o'er  a  victory. 

On  winter's  nights  'twas  sweet  to  hear  the  fall 

Of  rain  upon  the  roof,  against  the  wall, 

Or  snow,  that  softly  seemed  from  heaven  to  creep 

While  weight  of  lighter  thoughts  pressed  us  to  sleep; 

When  older  grown,  we  sought  the  far  off  school, 

And  learned  there  best  to  hate  a  tyrant's  rule  ; 

How  through  long  hours,  those  many  sunny  days, 

W"e  watched  the  birds,  playing  on  high  their  plays ; 

And  wished  that  we,  like  them,  winged  birds  could  be, 

Dwellers  of  air,  where  aught  that  lived  was  free. 

And  then,  upon  the  sunny  Sabbath  morn, 

When  stillness  from  the  noisy  week  was  born, 

In  Sunday  suits,  we  walked  through  meadows  green 

Till  through  tall  oaks,  the  church's  spire  was  seen, 

And  ah  1  how  sweet,  when  all  the  church  was  choir, 


MEMOILE.  2£ 

To  hear  them  sing,  inspired  with  holy  fire ; 

How  rang  their  tone,  till  o'er  the  hill  and  vale, 

Some  wanderer  heard  it,  on  the  morning's  gale. 

And  when,  at  last,  the  sermons  end  would  come, 

And  all,  in  groups,  were  wandering  toward  home ; 

The  father  led  us  o'er  each  field  and  hill, 

And  taught,  the  while,  the  Heavenly  Father's  will ; 

Then  tired,  at  last,  we  rested  on  some  stone, 

Where  buttercups  in  crevices  had  grown, 

And  watched  the  earth,  spread  o'er  with  varied  flowers 

Whose  sweetness  memory  mingles  with  those  hours. 

These  joys  are  past ;  these  visions  have  no  home, 

Poor  wanderers^  to  memory's  door  they  come, 

And  gape  at  one,  changed  by  the  changing  years, 

Then  turn  away,  and  flee,  to  hide  their  tears. 


LIB 

UNIVE 


NAMELESS   HERE  FOREVERMORE, 


SEE  the  years,  like  waves,  roll  back 

Upon  time's  dreary  ocean  ; 
Waves  that  farther,  farther  move, 

With  ceaseless,  steady  motion. 

Breaking  upon  the  dark  waves  crest, 
Roll  on  those  happy  hours, 

When  I  loved  thee  thou  dark -eyed  one, 
Where  bloomed  Astoria's  flowers. 

How  oft  we  wandered  on  some  path, 
While  dark  trees  waved  above, 

And  threw  a  shade,  upon  thy  face, 
Too  sweet  for  sunbeam's  love. 


NAMELESS   HERE   FOREVERMORE.  25 

Or  wandered  by  Columbia's  bank, 

When  stars  had  ceased  their  dreaming, 

Awakened  by  the  gathering  night — 
Were  down  upon  us  beaming. 

Then  often  wildly  beat  this  heart, 
When  glanced  thy  eye  down  on  me  ; 

Ah,  well  I  knew,  with  that  sweet  glance, 
Fell  rays  of  love  upon  me  ! 

And  when  I  said  the  gentle  word, 

And  took  thy  hand  in  mine — 
But  ah,  tis  past !  forever  past, 

That  answering  look  of  thine. 

Roll  on,  ye  dark,  and  dreary  years  ! 

Roll  swiftly,  let  me  die ; 
Deep  sadness  shrouds  this  heart  around ; 

Hot  tears  burn  in  the  eye. 


26  NAMELESS   HERE   FOREVERMORE. 

For  once  I  saw  her  bright  face  grow 

So  thin,  so  thin  and  pale ; 
And  once  I  saw  spread  o'er  her  eye 

A  glaze — of  death  the  veil. 

Ah  !  how  I  watched,  with  breaking  heart, 
That  cheek  so  thin  and  white, 

I  kissed  her  cheeks — she  never  knew ; 
Her  eyes  had  lost  their  light. 

Those  kind  dark  eyes  had  lost  their  light, 
Twas  gone,  yes  gone  forever — 

'Twas  long  ago,  but  burning  thoughts 
Have  left  my  torn  heart  never. 

And  oft  I  wander  o'er  the  path, 
To  step  where  she  hath  stepped ; 

But  in  the  tracks,  flowers  oft  have  grown, 
And  snowflakes  there  have  slept. 


NAMELESS   HERE   FOREVERMORE.  27 

And  oft  I  seek  the  same  old  seat, 

Where  we  have  gat  together, 
But  years  have  worn  the  seat  away, 

And  cruel  winter  weather. 

And  I  have  listened  to  the  birds, 

That  sing  their  wildwood  lays, 
To  see,  if  now,  they  ever  sing 

The  songs  sung  in  those  days. 

But  when  I  listen,  their  wild  songs 

Upon  the  heart  seem  flowing, 
Like  snow-flakes,  freezing  all  the  earth, 

In  winter  when  its  snowing. 

But  cease  thou  now,  my  saddened  soul, 
These  weary  thoughts  repeating ; 

For  soon  times  wave's  shall  o'er  thee  roll, 
In  death  the  heart  stop  beating. 


THE  FOREST  FIRE, 


night  came  down,  from  out  the  deep  blue 
heaven, 

And  sternly  frowned  upon  the  lingering  day, 
Then  day,  by  fear,  from  off  the  earth  was  driven, 
And  o'er  the  world  the  night  assumed  her  sway. 
Upon  each  hill  there  blushed  a  sunset  cloud, 
That    blushed — that    died — and    night    became    its 

shroud. 

The  tall  black  trees,  like  shadows  touched  the  sky 
Of  prison  bars,  that  prisoned  in  the  day. 
Some  burning  planet  dropped  its  sparks  on  high ; 
Night's  stars  were  formed,  that  cast  below  their  ray. 
The  moon  came  out ;  below  upon  the  earth 


THE    FOREST   F^RE.  29 

A  thousand  shades,  from  her  sweet  ray,  had  birth. 

A  hunter  bold  rides  by  upon  his  steed — 

A  gallant  steed  ;  borne  of  the  prarie  breed. 

And  who  is  he  ?  the  world  has  never  known, 

Born  in  the  forest — there  to  manhood  grown  ; 

The  high  dark  mountain  looked  and  saw  his  birth, 

The  lonely  valleys  heard  his  wail  of  sorrow. 

The  sun  he  saw  sink  o'er  the  western  earth ; 

And  watched  its  rising  bring  another  morrow ; 

Nor  thought,  nor  cared,  if  kings  o'er    earth    might 

reign ; 

King  of  himself,  and  nature's  broad  domain  ; 
Long  taught  to  roam  the  wild  home  God  had  given, 
He  feared  naught  living,  'neath  the  deep  blue  heaven. 

Beside  him  rode  a  maid,  whose  eye  of  light, 
Was  like  a  star  within  a  fairy  night. 
How  gallantly  her  steed  bore  her  along ! 


30  THE   FOREST   FIRE. 

And  proudly  moved,  with  step  grown  bold,  and  strong. 

In  maiden  fear  was  heard  her  sweet  voice  there, 

For  it  was  dark,  and  night  was  everwhere. 

The  big  trees  waked,  to  hear  its  gentle  tone, 

And  echoes  repeat  it  when  the  sound  has  flown. 

Slowly  they  ride,  along  the  winding  trail, 

O'er  trees  blown  down,  by  some  wild  winter's  gale ; 

The  while  the  wind,  that  from  the  Eastern  seas 

Has  lost  itself,  here  in  these  forest  trees, 

Is  heard  to  sigh,  and  moan,  for  its  far  home, 

And  call  sea  winds  to  help — they  never  come  ! 

The  bat,  to-night,  hath  gained  her  liberty, 

And  swiftly  darts  across,  from  tree,  to  tree ; 

Poor  thing  !  the  sun  will  chain  the  ground  with  light 

Again,  when  dies  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

Ah,  note  ye  now  how  sweet  that  maiden's  smile  ? 
Methinks  night  winds  do  bear  it  off  the  while, 


THE    FOREST   FIRE.  31 

And  give  it  to  some  lonely  prairie  flower, 
That  then  blooms  sweeter,  till  its  dying  hour  ! 

'Tis  darker  now,  and  by  the  pale  moon's  gleaming, 
Those  fallen  trees  are  like  dark  monsters  seeming. 
The  lovers  talk ;  and  that  sweet  maid  asks  why 
She  hears  low  rumbling,  in  the  distant  sky  ? 
He  hears  it  not — "  Perhaps  it  is  the  wind, 
That  drearily  waves  through  the  limbs  behind 
And  seeks  to  touch,  and  kiss  thy  gentle  brow, 
With  lips  cooled  by  some  far  off  mountain  snow. 
Ah  Helen,  now,  within  thy  deep  dark  eye, 
I  see  a  star  of  heaven,  reflected  lie ; 
And  was  it  driven  far  from  its  home  on  high, 
And  there  hath  found  a  kinder,  gentler  sky. 
And  more,  it  seems  to  me,  that  love  has  done, 
Hath  in  thy  eye  e'en  raised  his  kingly  throne." 
[And  conquers  thee,  thou  fearless  man,  this  hour ; 


32  THE   FOREST    FIRE. 

That  dark  eye's  glance — ah  well  Love  knows  its  power.] 
'  But  hush/'  she  said,  "  the  sound  I  hear  again." 
The  wild  steeds  snuff  the  air,  and  strain  the  rein, 
Now,  through  the  trees,  the  distant  sky's  grown  red : — 
A  prarie  fire,  upon  nights  clouds  of  lead. 
Fear  has  grown  white,  upon  that  maiden's  face, 
Love's  left  his  throne,  send  fear  has-  ta'en  his  place  ; 
For  now  is  brought  down,  on  the  rising  wind, 
A  trembling  roar — it  leaves  a  fire  behind. 
Another  breath  brings  down  a  louder  roar ; 
Deep — dull — death's  messenger,  it  moves  before. 
Each  looks  to  each,  and  death's  writ  in  each  eye. 
The  steeds  draw  near,  in  fearful  sympathy, 
And  tremble  while  those  lovers  each  embrace. 

How  paleness  now  creeps  o'er  that  fair  one's  face, 
And  by  the  light,  thrown  from  yon  glowing  sky, 
I  see  her  eye,  in  prayer,  turned  up  on  high. 


THE   FOREST   FIRE.  S3 

"  The  forest  burns  !  come,  Helen,  let  us  flee, 
This  night  with  Death  we  race,  our  enemy." 
They  ride — the  spur  sinks  deep  into  each  steed. 
Forward  they  dash,  'tis  well,  they  now  have  need ! 
A  forest  burns  !  the  wild  flames  flashing  high, 
Blind  the  bright  stars  that  watched  in  night's  dark  sky. 
The  sighing  breeze  these  hours  have  made  a  gale, 
And  loud  the  tre  mbling  pine  trees  sigh,  and  wail ; 
Still  on  they  race — the  wind  howls  on  before ; 
Still  on  they  race — behind  the  wild  flames  roar. 
The  rising  embers  seek  the  sky  and  burn ; 
The  moon  seems  flamed,  ere  earthward  they  return. 
The  night,  that  filled  the  sky,  is  burnt ;  till  day 
Seems  o'er  the  earth.     The  wild  flames  far  away 
Look  near.     The  birds,  that  waken  with  a  cry, 
Leave  their  warm  nests,  and  flutter  in  the  sky. 
The  panther,  too,  has  left  his  forest  home 

To  those  wild  flames,  that  flashing,  onward  come. 

s 


34  THE  FOREST  FIRE. 

The  birds,  the  beasts,  before  the  red  flames  fly, 
All  joined,  by  fear,  in  one  vast  company. 

See  now  ! — he  falls  ! — the  maiden's  horse  is  dead ; 

The  living  coals,  to-night,  shall  be  his  bed. 

And  see  !  the  other  steed  drives  wildly  on, 

No  hand  can  check  his  speed, — and  he  is  gone ! 

That  hunter  now,  hath  left  his  love  behind, 

But  left  not  long — he  sprang !    and  from  the  ground 

He  rose ;  o'er  him,  the  red  sky  whirled  around, 

Backward  he  turns — back  toward  that  fiery  sea, 

And  sees  sweet  Helen,  there,  lie  lifelessly ! 

And  is  she  dead  ?  No  ;  by  the  fiery  light, 

Her  wild  eye  moves ;  sweet  Helen  lives  this  night. 

Onward  again ;  he  lifts  her  in  his  arms 

And  thinks  on  her,  nor  hears  the  night's  alarms ; 

He  sees  them  not — those  beasts  that  now  fly -by  him, 

Nor  sees  he,  yet,  the  dead  ones  falling  nigh  him  ; 


THE   FOREST   FIRE.  35 

Still  hurries  on,  and  strives  to  save  his  bride ; 
Still  hurries  on,  with  that  wild  living  tide. 

Roar,  roar,  one  steady  roar — a  hellish  sound 

Tis  grown.     The  trees  come  crashing  to  the  ground, 

And  falling,  forked  flames  glow  in  the  air — 

A  crash — the  blazing  coals  fly  everywhere. 

And  still  the  billowy  fire  rolls  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  seems  to  break  upon  yon  spangled  shore. 

His  steps  grow  weak,  yet  with  determined  eye, 
Once  more  he  strives  to  gain  the  victory, 
Ah,  will  yon  lurid  stars  by  these  flames  melt  ? 
Oh,  would  the  far  off  stars  but  pity  felt, 
And  wept  the  fire  away.     Ah,  note  his  brow  ! 
It  paler  grows  ;  death's  mark  is  on  it  now. 
He  falls  at  last !  and  falling  by  his  side, 
She  lies  in  sleep — the  sleep  of  death — his  bride. 


36  THE   FOREST   FIRE. 

All,  all  alone,  the  beasts  have  left  them  there, 
They  sleep  alone,  while  thunders  rend  the  air. 
Wild  roars  the  fire  I — and  yet  it  roars  not  deep, 
As  once  it  roared.     Still  through  it  all  they  sleep  ! 
And  now  it  sinks  ;  the  flames  flash  out  no  longer ; 
The  ashes  cool — in  stillness  death's  grown  stronger. 
The  wind  has  ceased.     The  cinders  rising  slow 
Reach  the  dark  sky,  and  but  a  moment  glow. 
Tis  o'er,  at  last ;  this  scene  of  death  and  light ; 
The  hours  drag  o'er  a  robe  of  crape — the  night. 


LENONA,  THE  INDIAN  CHIEFTAIN'S 
DAUGHTER. 


red  sun  was  rising,  and  far  in  the  west, 
The  last  star  was  sinking,  to  day-dreams,  and  rest; 

The  wild  bird  was  singing  his  song  of  the  morning ; 

His  audience  the  dew-drops,  the  tall  trees  adorning. 

A  river  was  winding  the  woodland  around, 

And  across  its  bright  surface,  there  danced  a  sweet 
sound ; 

'Twas  the  voice  of  a  maiden  that  rang  o'er  the  water; 

The  voice  of  Lenona,  the  dark  chieftain's  daughter. 

And  where  is  her  father,  the  dark  chieftain  gone  ? 

To  hunt,  with  his  warriors,  he  went  at  the  dawn. 

And  why  rings  that  maid's  voice,  the  bright  river  over  ? 


38 

To  call  the  young  chieftain,  from  childhood  her  lover. 
He  comes,  and  his  bark  boat  glides  swift  through  the 

water ; 
And  he  clasps  her,  his  loved  one,  the  dark  chieftain's 

daughter. 
Swift   onward   they   move   now,   aclown   the   bright 

stream, 

And  the  paddle  reflects,  as  it  turns  the  sun's  beam. 
The  chieftain  returning,  seeks  far  for  his  child, 
Nor  in  the  hut  finds  her,  nor  in  the  woods  wild. 
His  warriors  are  called.     "  To  the  boat  on  the  river ! 
And  onward,"  he  cries,  "  make  every  endeavor." 
The  canoe  now  flies  onward,  and  many  a  white  wave, 
At  the  bow  is  born  brightly,  and  astern  finds  its  grave. 
A  scull,  at  the  boat's  bow,  looks  out  o'er  the  water ; 
In   the  stern,  the   dark   chieftain   looks  out  for   hia 

daughter. 
Around  a  far  point,  now  he  sees  their  boat  turning; 


THE  CHIEFTAIN'S  DAUGHTEK.  39 

That  chief's  brow  is  calm,  but  his  wild  heart  is  burn 
ing. 

"  Now  strain  every  nerve,  my  men,  each  of  you  ! 

Dash  onward,"  he  cried,  "  the  prey  is  in  view." 

The  white  waves  roll  heavy  beneath  her  sharp  prow ; 

The  distance  decreases  between  the  boats,  now; 

The  maiden's  black  eye — see  it  gleams  fearfully, 

As  she  cries  to  her  lover,  his  own  life  to  save, 

And  jumps  in  the  river,  and  sinks  silently, 

And  around  her  sad  face  rolls,  circling,  a  wave. 

The  boat,  now  made  lighter,  still  swifter  on  flew ; 

And  the  white  spray,  from  off  her  bow,  gallantly 
threw ; 

But  the  arm  of  the  rower  grew  nerveless  and  weak; 

While  the  flush  of  resolve,  came  slow  o'er  his  cheek — 

He  jumped  in  the  wave,  and  he  rose  never  more  ; 

While  his  boat  floated  on,  and  behind  it  his  oar. 

The  chief's  boat  hath  stopped,  but  o'er  his  dark  face 


40  THE  CHIEFTAIN'S  DAUGHTER. 

There  is  not,  there  comes  not,  of  sadness  a  trace. 
But  the  tears  of  the  man,  with  the  stars  of  the  night, 
In  anguish  arose,  when  the  sun  hid  his  light; 
Then  one  cry  rolled  out  piercingly,  far  o'er  the  water — 
The  cry  of  that  father,  bereft  of  his  daughter. 


LIBR  A  R 

UNIVERSITY 'OF 

VLIFO1* 


THOUGHTS  AT  MIDNIGHT. 


S  midnight  now ;  the  passing  hour 
Steals  over  those  bound  by  dream  power, 
A  whole  world  sleeps  !  should  beings  strang  e, 
From  some  far  world,  down  earthward  range, 
Arrayed  for  war ;  a  world  they'd  take — 
A  world  bound  down,  in  chains  of  sleep. 
Blaze  on  ye  stars !  your  bright  light  make 
To  pierce  through  night's  soft  darkness  deep, 
And  show,  with  light,  her  hiding  gloom. 
Ye  stars  !  and  are  ye  "  flowers  "  that  bloom 
Upon  an  airy  soil  of  night  ? 
Or  " midnight  lamps"  that  cast  their  light 
Along  the  winding  road  to  heaven  ? 


42  THOUGHTS   AT  MIDNIGHT. 

Do  angels  light  ye,  every  even, 

That  Death  may  see  to  lead  along, 

To  heaven,  his  dark,  and  silent  throng  ? 

A  watch-dog's  bark  sounds  through  the  air, 

And  stirs  the  airy  stillness  there ; 

Some  being  stirs  ! — a  candle's  flame 

Now  mocks  the  stars — to  die  in  shame. 

Sweet  sleep,  that  steals  in  on  the  mind, 

And  shuts  the  eye-lid  gate  behind ; 

Then  sits  beside,  the  sickened  brain 

To  nurse,  till  all  is  well  again. 

Sweet  child  of  night !  thy  dreams  are  given. 

Methinks,  as  minatures  of  heaven 

The  beggar  has  his  dreams  at  night ; 

His  poor,  thin  fare ;  his  eyes  so  bright, 

(Eyes  lit  by  hunger's  burning  fire) 

In  cool  dreams  quench  their  glowing  ire. 


THOUGHTS   AT   MIDNIGHT. 

Sweet  sleep !  them  rear'st  him  up  a  throne, 
In  magic  dreams  a  king  he's  grown. 

A  king,  in  day  oppressed  with  thought, 
Sleeps'  servant,  Dream,  a  cot  has  brought, 
And  placed  it  by  a  running  stream, 
Where  waving  trees  kiss  the  sun's  beam. 
The  honeysuckle  climbs  the  wall, 
And  from  its  branches  bird's  songs  fall. 
Within,  his  wife  doth  hum  her  song, 
In  happiness,  the  morn  along, 
His  children  play  upon  the  grass — 
'Tis  thus,  in  dreams,  a  king's  hours  pass. 
The  felon  dreams  ;  again  a  child, 
He  strays  afar,  'mid  flowers  wild ; 
With  comrades  climbs  some  forest  tree, 
And  feels  a  child,  at  liberty. 
No  iron  bars  can  hold  his  dreams ; 


44  THOUGHTS  AT   MIDNIGHT. 

In  wandering  thought  himself  he  deems 
In  childhood's  crib.     He  lies  asleep, 
And  wakes ;  to  see  his  mother  weep, 
While  bending  o'er  him,  tears  of  love. 
Ah  !  sleep  doth  make  his  wild  heart  move. 

The  broken-hearted  one,  that's  dying, 
Is  well,  while  'neath  the  midnight  lying 
All,  all  is  still.   The  weary  steed, 
That  lives  a  death,  a  life  doth  lead 
While  roving  in  soft  clouds  of  sleep. 
Far  in  the  sky,  in  darkness  deep, 
Each  star,  (an  angel's  eye  that  gleams) 
Is  watching  o'er  these  midnight  dreams. 


ONLY   A   LITTLE   CROSS. 


HILE  wandering  through  the  mountains  in 
Columbia,  some  miners,  then  on  their 
way  to  Carriboo,  came  across  a  little  grave  covered 
with  snow.  At  one  end  of  the  mound  was  a  rough 
wooden  cross,  with  no  inscription  or  name  upon  it. 
Hearing  one  of  the  miners  tell  about  their  discovery, 
the  following  lines  were  suggested  : — 

Only  a  little  cross,  far  and  alone ; 

Far  from  a  human  home,  winds  one  by  one 

Bring  down  the  soft  white  snow,  cov'ring  his  home, 

Cov'ring  his  lonely  home,  snows  come. 

Only  the  lonely  wolf  steals  to  the  grave ; 

And  his  tracks  die  away,  while  the  winds  rave. 

And  his  home ;  where  is  it  ?  look  to  the  cross — 


46 


ONLY  A   LITTLE   CROSS. 


It  is  gone,  worn  by  years.     What  is  the  loss  ? 

Was  he  a  nobleman,  beggar,  or  king  ? 

Learn  from  the  dreary  winds,  round  whispering ! 

And  had  he  a  father,  a  mother  to  mourn? 

A  sister,  or  brother,  away  from  him  torn  ? 

Ah,  look  down  on  the  grave ;  scrape  off  the  snow  ; 

Never  a  man  will  know  who  sleeps  below. 

Let  him  rest ;  let  him  rest,  here  all  alone  ; 

Let  the  winds  dirges  howl ;  his  work  is  done ; 

Let  the  wolves  howl  at  night — howl  o'er  the  snow  ; 

He  hears  not ;  he  cares  not;  who  sleeps  below. 


I,  I  B  R  A 

UNIVERSITY   OF 

CALIFORNIA. 

V- 


THE  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS  TRAGEDY. 


WN  MEMORY  of  the  bold  band  of  emigrants, 
c^  murdered  on  the  Mountain  Meadows  by  the 
Mormons. 

At  daybreak  on  Monday,  September  7,  1857,  an 
emigrant  train,  composed  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
persons,  men,  women  and  children,  was  attacked  by  a 
band  of  Mormons.  Nearly  all  were  asleep,  and  at  the 
first  fire  seven  were  killed  and  fifteen  wounded.  They 
immediately  rolled  their  wagons  around  them,  forming 
a  corral,  and  strengthened  this  fortification  with  dirt, 
thrown  from  the  center.  In  this  position  they  suffered 
intense  hunger  and  thirst  for  several  days;  and  then 
John  D.  Lee,  the  Mormon  leader,  came  to  them  with  a 


48  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS  TRAGEDY. 

white  flag.  They  should  be  protected,  he  said,  if  they 
would  lay  down  their  arms  and  march  out.  They  had 
hardly  left  their  corral  when  the  Mormons,  some  of 
whom  were  dressed  as  Indians,  fell  upon  them  and 
murdered,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  young  children, 
the  whole  band. 

Sweet  Muses  from  the  plain  of  heaven, 

Let  inspiration  now  be  given; 

Down,  on  the  stars  soft  ray  of  light, 

Speak  to  me,  through  the  gloom  of  night; 

For  there  is  done  a  deed  so  dark, 

That  on  black  night  would  leave  a  mark. 

Then  give  me,  Muses,  pity's  fire, 

To  stir  men's  hearts  with  righteous  ire. 

While  o'er  the  prairie,  throws  the  sun 
His  long,  thin  darts  of  golden  light, 


MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS  TRAGEDY.  49 

On  the  far  trail,  move,  one  by  one, 
The  wagons,  with  their  covers  white. 
Each  slowly  turning,  glistening  wheel, 
Receives  the  sun's  darts  on  its  steel. 
The  laugh  of  childhood  strikes  the  air, 
And  enters,  with  its  sweetness,  there; 
While  maiden's  songs,  at  times,  are  heard, 
The  zephyrs  hear  each  lover's  word. 
While  bold  men  tell  of  good  times  gone ; 
Of  days  when  warlike  deeds  were  done ; 
And  mothers  breathe  the  inward  prayer, 
That  asks  for  blessings  on  all  there; 
They  move  along,  till  dies  the  day, 

And  night's  a  barrier  in  their  way. 

• 

These  emigrants,  from  Eastern  lands, 
Now  stop  to  rest  their  weary  bands. 
The  horses  loosed  upon  the  green; 


50  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY. 

The  camp-fire's  rising  smoke  is  seen. 
The  evening  meal,  the  fires  prepare; 
And  while  all  work,  songs  break  the  air ; 
Songs  that  send  memory  back  to  roam 
And  brood  o'er  an  abandoned  home. 

Now  snow-like  sleep  falls  down  from  heaven: 
That  kindliest  gift  to  man  that's  given, 

In  a  lone  wood,  not  far  from  there, 
Low  whisperings  rend  the  silent  air; 
For  there  has  come  a  Mormon  band, 
And  murderous  steel  gleams  in  each  hand; 
And  they  sleep  not;  but  cast  away 
This  gift  of  sleep,  and  make  night  day 
With  burning  torches,  whose  hot  flame 
Burns  up  the  night,  that  bears  not  blame. 
And  as  they  whisper,  shades  of  trees, 


MOUNTAIN    MEADOWS   TEAGEDY.  51 

That  waver  in  the  chilly  breeze, 
Hear  their  cold  words,  and  fearing  shiver; — 
Such  words  would  freeze  a  Summer's  river. 
Now  by  the  torch's  flickering  gleam, 
Read  in  yon  eye  what  demon's  dream; 
And  hear  his  voice,  that  prison's  sound, 
Lest  the  should  wake  the  echoes  round, 
Tell  how  yon  band  shall  die  the  death, 
With  daggers  that  drive  out  the  breath. 
Yon  band,  beneath  the  mountain  sleeping, 
What  do  they  dream?     The  moon  is  weeping 
Down  from  heaven  her  tears  of  light, 
To  wake  those  emigrants,  this  night. 
Oh,  that  those  tears  would  rain  a  sea, 
And  drown,  on  earth,  their  enemy. 

Slow  drifts  the  night,  upon  time's  tide; 
Slow  creeps  the  foe  up  yon  hillside — 


52  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY. 

Their  Mormon  foe,  in  Indian  guise, 
Would  murder,  when  but  sleep  defies. 
Onward  they  creep,  with  stealthy  tread, 
Like  ghouls,  that  creep  o'er  graves  of  dead ; 
And  coward  echoes  break  the  air, 
To  hide  their  sounds  forever  there. 
These  Mormon  men  have  faces  red, 
And  creep  along  with  Death's  slow  tread. 
Ah,  note  ye  now  their  savage  eyes  ? 
The  adder's  thought  cold  in  them  lies. 
Still  on  they  creep,  as  serpents  creep, 
That  sting  their  foes,  who  helpless  sleep. 
Now  night  has  fled,  from  out  the  heaven, 
And  dawn  lies  there,  whence  night  was  driven. 
Still  on  they  creep,  and  creep  still  nearer, 
The  while  the  dawn  grows  brighter,  clearer; 
Oh,  that  yon  star,  with  lingering  ray, 
Might  flame  a  meteor  through  the  day 


MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY.  53 

And  wake  each  from  his  darkened  sleep, 
That  seems  so  death-like,  and  so  deep. 
Oh,  that  the  sun,  with  scorching  beam, 
Would  wake  each  from  his  lingering  dream! 
But  no!  those  fiends,  beneath  blue  heaven, 
Commence  their  work — the  word  is  given. 
Then  heard  ye  not  that  anguish  cry? 
Angels  have  heard  it,  in  the  sky ! 
And  birds  have  hushed  their  songs  of  glee, 
For  it  has  killed  all  melody. 
See!  on  the  Mountain  Meadows  hill 
They  rest.     Some  hands  for  aye  lie  still. 
A  child  creeps  to  its  mother's  face, 
To  kiss  away  the  wounded  place. 
Those  bold  men  raise  a  barrier  strong, 
With  wagons,  that  they  rush  along 
And  form  in  circle,  round  their  band, 
Determined  there  they  bravely  stand. 


54  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY. 

How  wild,  the  rifles  angry  roar, 

The  hills  re-echo  o'er  and  o'er; 

And  echoes  mock,  with  laughing  cry, 

Each  dying  wail,  like  fiends  on  high.    . 

The  foes  creep  up  the  mountain  side; 

Behind  tall  rocks,  their  faces  hide; 

And  wait  again  until  the  night, 

When  darkness  hides  them  from  the  sio-ht. 

o 

How  slow  the  hours  each  pass  away, 
They're  aged  hours,  this  long,  sad  day. 
And  stillness,  too,  rests  on  the  air, 
As  though  Death's  form  was  sleeping  there. 
Few  words  are  spoken  in  that  band, 
But  oft  is  pressed  the  speaking  hand ; 
And  oft  is  seen  the  wistful  eye, 
That  hopeless  turns  for  hope  on  high. 


MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY.  OO 

A  bloody  sun  sinks  in  the  west 
And  leaves  with  night  no  peaceful  rest. 
All  sleepless  watch  the  fiery  light 
Of  powder,  blazing  on  the  night. 
That  night  seems  longer  than  the  day; 
So  long,  it  seems  the  night  of  death. 
No  moon  sends  comfort  in  her  ray, 
No  geijtle  breeze  brings  cooling  breath. 
The  owl  comes  out,  and  o'er  the  earth, 
Proclaims  man's  doom  for  ghastly  mirth. 
At  last  a  beam  of  morning's  light, 
Was  stolen  away,  by  darkened  night; 
The  lord  of  light  then  rose  on  high 
And  banished  night,  from  out  the  sky. 
Three  weary  days  wear  slow  along. 
No  sound  is  heard,  but  bullet's  song — 
Unless  ye  hear  the  gasping  breath 
Of  those  that  lie  in  arms  of  death. 


56  MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY. 

But  oh,  deep  gloom  and  dark  despair, 

From  all  the  world,  had  gathered  there ! 

Thirst  steals  the  weary  crowd  amon^, 

And  hides  his  fire  in  every  tongue ; 

Oh  for  some  water,  clear,  and  pure — 

But  no  !  this  fire  must  still  endure. 

The  very  clouds,  like  dust  seemed  dry ; 

And  mocking  hang  so  listlessly. 

While  some  watch  there,  and  guard  the  camp,. 

Still  others  dream  of  dews  so  damp, 

The  parched  lips  cool,  the  dry  eyes  weep — 

Alas  their  blessing's  but  in  sleep. 

They  wake,  what  heard  they  in  the  grass  ? 

Some  say  the  moaning  wind  did  pass. 

They  sleep  again — a  broken  sleep, 

The  watchman's  lowest  tone  sounds  deep. 

Still  time  bears  off  the  future  of  gold, 

To  hide  it  in  the  unseen  past. 


MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS  TRAGEDY.  57 

They  hear  a  stream  run  clear  and  cold ; 
And  will  their  thirst  be  quenched  at  last  ? 
Why  heard  they  not  that  stream  before  ? 
Deep  anguish  strains  their  senses  more. 
Two  white-robed  children  seek  the  stream, 
"  So  young,  so  gentle,  even  this  foe, 
To  yonder  stream  will  let  them  go." 
Such  were  the  thoughts  within  that  band, 
When  the  babes  walked  on,  hand  in  hand. 
As  when  the  angry  lightnings  gleam, 
That  wildly  rages  through  the  .storm, 
Strikes  not  the  sturdy  oak's  great  form 
But  two  sweet  lillies — so  they  fell. 
On  every  face  there  does  now  dwell 
A  look  of  horror ;  so  dark,  so  deep, 
'T  would  put  all  joy  for  aye  to  sleep, 
Oh,  would  that  now  those  hearts  of  stone, 
But  once  for  pity's  pang  might  groan. 


58  MOUNTAIN    MEADOWS   TRAGEDY. 

But  no  !  their  hearts  like  ice  must  be, 
That  floats  upon  an  icy  sea ; 
So  cold  their  hearts  they  will  not  feel, 
Unless  ye  touch,  with  points  of  steel. 
Ah,  note  ye  now  that  truce  flag  rise  ? 
Tis  like  the  star,  that  in  black  skies, 
Becomes  the  long  lost  wanderer's  guide. 
Now  life  !  for  those  who  have  not  died, 
The  foe  hath  sworn — the  oath  is  taken, 
If  arms  of  steel  be  all  forsaken. 
******* 

Why  grows  yon  maiden's  face  so  pale  ? 
The  murderers'  shout  rings  in  the  vale. 
Ah,  see  that  knife,  gleam  in  the  light, 
Like  dead  men's  eyes  'tis  ghastly  bright 
And  see  the  babe  there  gasp  for  breath ; 
'Tis  struggling  in  the  throes  of  death ; 
And  see  yon  blood  reflect  the  sun ; 


MOUNTAIN   MEADOWS   TRAGEDY.  59 

A  ghastly  deed  is  this  that's  done  ! 

Methinks  the  very  winds  that  pass 

Are  stained  with  blood,  from  off  the  grass  ; 

Methinks  the  very  stars,  to-night, 

Will  shed  o'er  earth  a  bloody  light. 

Loud  rings  the  valley,  with  death's  tone, 

He's  grown  a  king,  with  kingly  power  ! 

Loud  rings  the  vale  with  weary  groan, 

He  wears  a  crown  of  blood  this  hour ! 

Ah,  lady,  why  does  in  your  eye 

One  drop  of  staining  red  blood  lie  ? 

Why  does  yon  father's  strained  hand  still 

Hold  up  that  blade  of  steel  so  chill  ? 

A  cross  rose  there,  where  graves  were  made  ; 

Was  writ  on  it :  Vengeance  is  mine  ;" 

And  time  hath  shown  vengeance  was  thine — 

Thou  hast  repaid ! 


THE    PRISONED  CANARY'S  COMPLAINT. 


H,  this  is  hard  for  me  to  bear, 

To  sing  here  aU  the  day ; 
For  I  must  sing  my  mournful  song, 
Till  death  bears  me  away. 

Ah  yes  !  I  sing  my  weary  song, 
While  hours  drag  on  the  hours ; 

As  when  the  bees  a  death  dirge  hum, 
In  a  sweet  bed  of  flowers, 

My  little  heart  would  break  in  me, 

Unless  I  sang  my  song ; 
My  little  song  doth  comfort  me, 

The  weary  day  along. 


THE  PRISONED  CANARY'S  COMPLAINT.  61 

Sometimes  I  sing,  how  long  ago 

I  knew  a  gentle  mate, 
But  that  is  past ;  forever  past ! 

Tne  song  is  sung  too  late. 

The  song  is  sung  too  late,  ye  see, 

Because  my  mate  is  gone. 
I  know  not  where,  in  the  wide  world, 

My  heart-broke  mate  is  flown. 

And  then  my  song  grows  loud,  and  wild ; 

So  loud,  and  wild,  ye  see, 
That  then  do  all  the  people  say 

'Tis  sweetest  melody ! 

They  call  it  sweetest  melody, 

These  pleading  songs  I  sing ; 
These  songs  sung  from  a  weary  heart, 

That  death  is  withering. 


G2  THE  PRISONED  CANARY'S  COMPLAINT. 

Sometimes  they  hang  me  on  the  wall, 

In  prison  on  the  wall ; 
And  then  I  watch  the  sunbeams  come, 

And  down  in  shadows  fall ! 

In  sickened  shadows,  from  the  bars, 
That  close  me  all  around. — 

And  doth  the  sun,  in  shadowed  bars, 
Fall  out  upon  the  ground  ? 

Then  sad  must  grow,  big-hearted  men, 
That  walk  about  out  there ; 

I  know  they  mark  my  little  heart 
With  sadness,  everywhere. 

These  bars  mark  sadness  on  my  heart ; 

Make  pain  within  my  eye, 
But  then  I  try  to  soothe  the  pain 

To  sleep,  with  melody. 


THE  PRISONED  CANARY'S  COMPLAINT.  63 

Sometimes  I  think  that  long  ago, 

I,  too,  like  man,  was  free ; 
Perhaps  it  is  some  sweet,  sweet  dream, 
.  Lost  in  my  misery. 

One  time  I  saw,  on  that  black  roof, 

A  bird  look  down  on  me. 
He  hopped  about,  and  stared  again, 

Then  flew  off  fearfully. 

He  never,  never  came  again ; 

He  left  me  all  alone — 
Perhaps  I'm  changed,  ah,  sadly  changed  I 

And  that  is  why  he's  gone. 

Once,  years  ago,  I  begged  so  hard, 

The  man  to  let  me  free  ; — 
But  then,  ye  see,  I  could  not  speak 

In  tones  as  rough  as  he  ! 


64  THE  PRISONED  CANARY'S  COMPLAINT. 

And  then  I  asked  a  pretty  maid 

In  song,  to  let  me  free ; 
And  oh,  I  sang  so  sad,  and  low, 

Her  eyes  grew  sad,  to  see ! 

Ah,  if  that  sweet,  and  dark-eyed  maid, 

Could  tell  this  tale  for  me, 
I  know  that  then  they'd  break  these  bars, 

And  let  me  fly  out  free. 

No  !  I  musi>sing  through  long,  long  years. 

Unto  the  deep  blue  sky  ; 
And  then  must  sing  a  funeral  song, 

And  lay  me  down  and  die. 


THEY  SAY  MY  WILLIE  IS  DEAD. 


say  my  Willie  is  dead  now, 
The  Willie  I  dearly  did  love, 
And  on  the  white  billow,  his  head  now 

Is  pillowed,  and  ocean  winds  rove 
And  sing  a  sad  dirge  overhead, 
Over  Willie,  my  poor  Willie,  dead ; 

For  they  tore  my  poor  Willie  away  once, 
They  tore  him  away  from  this  breast, 

And  they've  left  this  poor  heart  that  was  gay  once 
In  the  deepest  of  sorrow  opprest, 

For  they've  killed  my  poor  Willie,  ye  see, 

And  they've  left  all  the  sorrow  with  me. 

s 


66  THEY  SAY  MY  WILLIE  IS  DEAD. 

They  said  my  loved  Willie  too  poor  was, 

And  I  they  said  was  too  young, 
Then  oh  !  all  our  happiness  o'er  was, 

And  our  hearts  with  sadness  were  wrung ; 
And  then  they  did  force  us  to  part 
Forever — and  broken  in  heart. 

My  Willie  he  went  to  the  sea  then, 
And  he  left  his  poor  love  all  alone. 

One  night — and  the  dark  clouds  did  flee  then, 
And  the  storm  in  the  shrouds  loud  did  moan, 

From  the  yard  Willie  sank  in  the  wave, 

In  the  cold,  cold  ocean  his  grave. 


LINES. 


GAIN  sweet  spring  doth  kiss  her  waking  flowers. 

Calls  out  the  birds,  that  they  with  melodies 
May  wake  all  drowsy  Nature.     And  now  the  sunshine 
Doth  lie  upon  the  earth,  there,  listening  to 
The  growing  grass  ;  watching  the  timid  bud 
Peep  from  its  tiny  shell,  and  blush  in  all 
Its  innocence.     The  breeze  of  summer  comes 
Creeping  again  back  to  these  sweet  green  valleys, 

Whence  it  was  banished  by  the  storms  of  winter. 

« 
Ah  !  then  was  mighty  tyranny  of  Nature  ! 

The  rushing  floods  then  drowned  the  tender  flowers  ; 

And  if,  in  dying,  they  gave  forth  a  wail, 

'Twas  never  heard — 'twas  hushed  in  all  their  thunder. 


G8  LINES. 

Ah  !  what  a  mighty  grave  this  cold-browed  Winter 

Hath  left  us  here ;  and  once,  methought  I  saw, 

Where  bridged  rainbows  stretched  from  hill  to  hill, 

Across  it  wandering  the  spirits  of  these  flowers. 

At  night  these  spirits  often  ye  may  see 

In  airy  forms,  fleeting  in  the  broad  heaven 

That  hangs  above  the  Golden  Gate  when  sinks 

The  weary  sun.     There,  in  that  rose-hued  heaven 

The  spirits  of  the  flowers,  that  on  some  far 

And  dreary  mountain  hight  have  died,  do  go ; 

Or,  all  alone,  do  on  the  prairie  die  ;. 

Or,  in  some  prison,  guarded  by  rough  thorns. 

Sweet  spring  hath  sent  afar  her  minion  winds, 

To  chase  dark  clouds  from  out  the  sky — those  clouds 

That  hide  the  gentle  faces  of  the  stars 

At  night.     But  yet  these  silent  winds  have  left 

Those  lighter  clouds  that  vail  the  gentle  stars, 

Lest  flowers  should  envious  grow. 


LIXES.  69 

Now  comes  the  moon  a- wandering  through  the  night, 

And  up  her  ladder-beams  the  fairies  climb. 

And  on  old  Grizzly's  peak  cayotes  howl 

The  livelong  night,  mocking  the  students'  song — 

That  song  that  echoes  bear  away,  to  hide 

Deep  in  the  cave  of  melody.     But  hush  ! 

I  hear  some  church  bell  in  yon  white-earthed  moon 

Call  out  in  ringing  melody  the  hour 

Marked  three  o'clock,  upon  the  black-faced  night ! 

Then  I'll  to  bed,  and  rest  worn  thought  on  dreams. 


LIBK  A  U  \ 

UNIVERSITY   OK 


CALIFORNIA. 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN, 


&PTILL  evening  claimed  the  hour,  and  in  the  sky 
•**?  The  sun  sank  down,  chased  by   the  night   on 
high. 

I  met  an  aged  man  upon  the  hill— 

"  Young  man,  why  walkest  thou  here  when  all  is  still, 

When  work  hath  ceased,  and  in  yon  town  is  rest, 

And  men  turn  home,  where  some  short  hours  are  blest  ? 

Is  it  because  ambition  burns  thy  heart  ? 

Then  woe  to  thee  !  'twill  wither  every  part. 

Sit  down  upon  this  little  hillock  green, 

And  hear  what  one  ambitious  man  hath  seen." 

He  told  his  tale  ;  and  as  he  told  it  seemed 

As  if  while  telling  his  sad  tale  he  dreamed. 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN.  71 

THE   TALE. 

"  Borne  oack  on  dreams  are  years  of  long  ago, 

And  on  my  heart,  for  every  year,  a  blow 

My  memory  strikes ;  and  recollections  ring 

With  a  dull  sound — the  sound  too  soon  takes  wing. 

Cease  time  thy  wandering  o'er  eternity, 

With  thy  strange  band  of  hours,  and  days,  and  nights  ; 

A  moment  cease,  and  show  the  past  to  me — 

The  past,  that  now  but  dim-flamed  memory  lights. 

For  when  a  child,  I  always  wished  to  roam 

Upon  the  main — the  daring  sailor's  home  ; 

To  climb  the  mast,  when  storms  howled  through  the 

night ;. 

When  stars  came  not,  the  midnight  hour  to  light ; 
While  ocean  roared,  and  roared  the  thundering  sky, 

And  lightnings  tore  the  face  of  night  on  high. 

*##-##*** 

A  youth  in  years,  I  left  my  father's  door — 


72  THE  WANDERERS'  RETURN. 

Cursed  be  that  hour — aye  !  cursed  forevermore  ! 
Night  hid  me  while  I  crept  away  from  home,  * 
Like  ocean's  bird  to  sail  o'er  ocean's  foam. 
I  left  a  father  aged  and  lonely  there  ; 
A  sister,  too,  and  mother  bowed  with  care. 
But  I  was  punished.     Since  then  life  hath  been 
A  garment  filled  with  burrs  whose  cut  is  keen. 
But  never  had  my  life,  from  childhood's  hour, 
Once  felt  the  touch  of  love's  almighty  power, 
Nor  felt  the  influence  of  a  smile's  sunshine, 
That  with  its  light  might  even  change  hearts  like 

mine. 

Aged  men  agreed  I  was  a  wicked  child, 
And  smiled  on  me  ;  but  scornfully  they  smiled. 
My  brow  grew  dark,  a  scowl  came  o'er  my  face, 
No  kind  words  came ;  none,  none  my  gloom  erase. 
None  ?  one,  yes  one — oh  God  !   my  heart  will  break  ! 
Yes  one  there  was,  that  never  would  forsake. 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN.  73 

Why  name  her  here  !  her  name  is  known  in  heaven. 

Too  sweet  the  name,  in  thought's  arms  to  be  given. 

How  many  a  day  we  wandered  through  the  wood, 

Where  clear  streams  ran,  and  round  the  tall  oaks  stood. 

And  when  I  told  the  sorrows  of  my  heart, 

With  flashing  eyes  she  ever  took  my  part ; 

And  when  I  told  her  how,  before  the  light 

Of  the  warm  sun  had  chased  away  the  night 

I'd  seek  some  city  by  the  far  off  sea, 

And  on  the  wave,  a  son  of  ocean  be ; 

She  raised  her  eye — her  dark  and  saddened  eye ; 

I  read  her  thought — and  you  would  ask  me  why 

I  leave  my  home  ?     Against  my  country's  foe 

To  fight  for  fame,  or  death,  that  worlds  may  know 

The  boy  despised,  in  a  country  town, 

Where  none  looked  on  him,  but  to  look  and  frown. 

Upon  one  morn  I  left  my  father's  home. 

A  moment  still — I  saw  the  warm  light  come 


74  THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN. 

And  throw  cold  shadows  darkly  on  the  wall. 
And  as  I  write,  dark  shadows  on  me  fall 
From  out  the  past.     Then  to  the  Inn  farewell 
I  breathed ;  where  oft,  at  night,  do  hunters  tell 
Their  Indian  tales — their  tales  of  wild- wood  life, 
Of  stratagem,  and  of  the  deadly  strife. 
I  glanced  up  at  the  little  church's  door — 
'Twas  closed.     "  On  me  "  I  asked,  "  forever  more  ?! 
Now  forty  years,  times  longest  years  are  past, 
And  I  was  back — yes  home  again  at  last. 
'Twas  Sunday  morn ;  the  little  church  I  passed 
New  faces  there — was  I  then  left  the  last  ? 
Ha  1  Sexton  no,  I'll  not  walk  in  the  door, 
But  stand  without,  and  rest  one  moment  more." 
New  voices  sing  ;  even  new  the  songs  of  praise; 
Not  those  good  songs  sung  in  my  boyhood's  days. 
The  old  church  stood  just  as  it  stood  of  old, 
Beneath  the  trees  the  shade  was  just  as  cold. 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN.  75 

But  ah  !  how  small  that  church — how  short  the  aisle — 
As  death  draws  near  all  things  decrease  the  while ; 
And  there  the  seat,  where  oft  my  loved  one  prayed — 
Perhaps  for  me — even  me  her  prayers  were  said. 
I  sought  the  Inn,  and  hoping,  fearing,  found, 
That  it  was  gone,  by  time  crushed  to  the  ground. 
And  where  were  they,  those  men  I'd  known  of  old  ? 
That  told  tales  there,  when  Winters'  nights  were  cold, 
And  smoked  their  pipes  around  the  landlord's  stove, 
While  smoke,  arising,  airy  figures  wove. 
Where,  where  were  they  ?  — My  sad  heart   answered 

gone, 

Upon  Time's  breast,  all  fallen,  every  one. 
And  there  they  slept  the  silent  sleep  of  death — 
A  choking  sigh  here  almost  stopped  my  breath. 
On,  on,  still  on,  I  saw  the  corner  stone, 
Where  oft,  a  child,  my  steps  had  been  before; 
And  there  the  green,  where  often  when  a,  child,. 


76  THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN. 

The  school  time  o'er;  in  games  were  hours  beguiled. 

Where  were  they  now — those  friends  of  former  days  ? 

With  death  were  some,  the  rest  gone  many  ways. 

The  air  was  still,  no  happy  laugh  rang  there, 

All  joy  seemed  dead,  and  stillness  in  the  air. 

The  old  oak  tree  was  fast  decaying  now, 

And  on  the  ground  lay  many  a  withering  bough. 

And  in  the  street  but  strangers  passed  me  by, 

And  glanced  on  me  with  curious  wondering  eye. 

"Why  was  I  here?"  there  strange  looks  seemed  to  say, 

"Why  am  I  here,"  I  asked,  and  moved  away. 

My  home  was  reached,  my  childhood's  home  of  old. 

The  latch  was  touched,  my  very  heart  grew  cold. 

I  trembling  dared  to  look  upon  the  wall, 

Where,  when  a  child,  the  ivy  used  to  fall. 

'Twas  all  gone  now,  and  on  the  window  pane 

Lay  heavy  dust — my  hope  had  ris'n  in  vain. 

Who  could  it  be — his  hair  as  white  as  snow — 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN.  77 

I  knew  him  then,  a  friend  of  long  ago. 
He  knew  me  not.     "  Oh  stranger  where  are  they — 
The  family  that  here  once  made  their  home, 
Still  do  they  live,  or  hath  death  writ  their  doom  ?  " 
"  The  parents  to  death's  home  are  led  away. 
A  stranger  came  and  won  the  daughter's  hand ; 
The  son  a  wanderer  in  some  distant  land." 
And  then  I  asked  about  that  dark-eyed  one. 
She  too  was  dead,  and  I  was  left  alone. 
"  Long  years  ago,  drawn  silently  and  slow 
Up  yonder  hill,  the  hearse  was  seen  to  go — 
'  Oh  say  no  more,"  I  cried,  and  sought  the  stream  ; 
How  cruelly  came  back  my  boyish  dream  ! 
To  be  a  sailor  then,  my  young  heart  burned  ; 
To  be  a  mourner  now,  had  I  returned. 
Oh,  that  she !  that  she  alone  were  there, 
•  With  smiles,  to  drive  away  my  dark  heart's  care. 
But  she  slept  silently  upon  yon  hill ; 


78  THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN. 

And  oh,  for  aye,  her  gentle  voice  was  still. 

Never  again  these  hills  would  hear  her  song, 

Nor  birds  repeat  it  all  the  day  long. 

A  picket  fence  they'd  placed  around  her  grave, 

And  there  soft  winds  now  make  the  green  grass  wave. 

See,  now  the  sun  sinks  down  behind  the  scene, 

And  darkness  creeps  the  sun  and  earth  between ; 

The  night  will  come,  and  rest  here  silently. 

My  heart  is  dark  ;  the  world  is  dark  to  me." 

The  old  man  ceased  ;  his  hands  rose  to  his  face, 

A  tear  fell  down ;  earth  was  its  resting  place. 

A  year  is  past,  and  now  upon  the  hill 

A  new  grave's  made — two  hearts  for  aye  are  still. 


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